


Spring Kisses

by andchaos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Flower Crowns, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlet about Dean and Cas making flower crowns and being cute.</p><p>Inspired by this post on tumblr:<br/>http://assbuttsinlove.tumblr.com/post/58108259806/dean-buying-cas-flowers-cas-picking</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring Kisses

It was a little stupid, but they hadn’t had anything _real_ planned so he thought he would do something sweet anyway.

          Still, despite the sweetness of the gesture, Dean felt more than a little silly as he stood in line at the florist’s, a large bouquet of flowers behind his back, his foot tapping nervously. It was actually just a booth set up on the side of the road manned by a pretty young woman and her mother, both dressed up in sundresses and strappy sandals, although the informality only made Dean blush harder because that meant he was being _spontaneously_ cute and he usually had a hard enough time being romantic when he’d had time to plan and prepare. That was really Sam’s department.

          One year. One year since they had decided to become _official_ (and though admittedly Dean wasn’t the one who was insistent upon making anything exclusive, he’d been more than happy to agree), although they had arguably been in love long before that. Not that either of them had ever actually said those words to each other. Nope, just one year of little smiles and holding hands on long drives and watching movies together on the couch and sleeping under the same blanket and kissing on walks down sidewalks littered with leaves and kissing on walks down sidewalks coated in snow and kissing on sidewalks exploding with grass and plants and color.

          Dean wasn’t exactly used to this sort of relationship, where they could be cutting off monster heads in one minute and passionately making out the next, but he wasn’t sad about it. In fact—despite the constant arguments and temper tantrums and the continuous lack of pie—this was one of the best relationships he’d ever been in, even though it was probably also one of the least healthy. That didn’t matter; he’d never been in a totally healthy relationship, probably never would—so this was perfect.

          Despite his discomfort at his current location and activity, Dean Winchester was Dean Winchester, so he smiled brilliantly at the girl behind the register and brandished the spring flowers to indicate his intended purchase. The young woman watched the yellows and pinks and whites flash for about five seconds before refocusing on Dean’s face, beaming, and accepting the few bills he dropped into her outstretched palm. And, still being himself, he lifted one of the pink ones from its fellows and offered it to her. She giggled and tucked it back into her hair, waving happily at him as he departed with a similar gesture.

          God, he felt stupid on the ride home, even though he knew the look he would receive in return for this gift would be blinding and beautiful and absolutely worth it. With this imagined image in mind, he smiled to himself, turned one of his tapes on, and sped down the road with music blasting and his foot tapping contentedly.

 

Dean got so few truly good things in life that Castiel spent the day picking wildflowers.

          Flowers showed affection, Sam had promised. Castiel wanted to make absolutely sure that today of all days, Dean knew that somebody cared about him, that he was cherished and wonderful and perfect and _loved_. Castiel didn’t know when it was appropriate to say these things, so he decided to show them instead, with some guidance from Sam; he knew more about this romance business than either of them, and so was something of a godsend to Castiel.

          He walked out to a flower-strewn meadow, and it wasn’t a short walk, either. He spent over an hour wandering the roads until he saw the valley, bright green from fresh rain and covered in bright colors, and he quirked a little smile to himself at his victory before practically running down into the field, the wind whipping back his hair. He walked around for another couple of hours, because he was determined to collect only perfect flowers. No bugs or tears in the stem. It had to be perfect, just like Dean.

          He managed to collect a handful in the few hours he spent out there, a wild array of vibrant yellow, red, white, blue, purple, pink—every color he could find, he made sure to select at least one. When he was satisfied, he smiled vaguely at the bouquet he had amassed, his thoughts straying only briefly to the flowers in his hand before settling firmly back on Dean.

          Dean was perfect, really. Selfless and wonderful and blind as hell if he couldn’t see why he was flawless. He didn’t know that his bowlegs weren’t stupid and awkward and ridiculous; they were another thing that Castiel added to his mental list of reasons why he loved him. He didn’t know that he had made the face he called “Blue Steel” so much as a joke that he had started doing it accidentally and completely seriously. He didn’t know that sometimes, when he was focusing so hard on what Castiel was saying that his eyes glazed over and his mouth parted and his tongue rested between his teeth, Castiel lost his train of thought and wanted nothing more than to pull him in and kiss him senseless. He didn’t know that he wasn’t a _failure_ or a _nothing_ —he deserved to be saved, he _deserves_ to be saved, he’s _going_ to be saved for all the times that he saved Castiel from himself.

          Castiel smiled softly and sat down in the grass, folding his legs in front of him. He laid his arrangement carefully across his lap, making sure not to rumple or otherwise damage his meticulously selected flowers, and picked a daisy out of the ground beside him. It wasn’t perfect, but it was still beautiful; the stem was frayed and riddled with thorns, but the petals were glowingly bright and seemed to shine up at Castiel. He thought that this daisy was more like his Dean than any of the perfect flowers he had picked up before.

          Slowly, he pinched a petal of the daisy between his thumb and index finger. He had seen this in a movie once, some stupid animation about green people that Dean had insisted he see.

          “It’s a classic!” he’d shouted eagerly. “Most kids grow up on movies like these! We’re watching it.”

          Castiel began to pick petals off of the daisy, murmuring “he loves me, he loves me not” as he went, but when all the petals had dropped to the ground, he just stared at the fallen pieces.

          “This is a ridiculous game,” he muttered, twirling the barren stem between his fingers. “What does it accomplish besides destruction of what was once beautiful?”

          The stem was suddenly plucked out of his hand, and someone laughed.

          “That’s not the point, Cas,” said Dean, grinning down at Castiel. He was holding one hand behind his back and his eyes were shining.

          “Then what is the point?” wondered Castiel, staring up at Dean, his expression blank.

          Dean just laughed again and sat down next to Castiel, so close their knees were touching. He didn’t answer, but Castiel had gotten caught up in the twinkling chime of shooting stars that was his laugh, and he forgot the question anyway.

          “I picked you flowers, Dean,” said Castiel, picking up his gift and presenting it to him.

          Dean smiled and flicked one of the sunflowers with his finger. “That makes me feel pretty inadequate, Cas,” he said finally, but he didn’t sound upset; he was smirking, his words clearly a jest, and he tipped him a wink before revealing his own flowers.

          “I bought mine,” he confessed, his fist closing around the flowers that Castiel was still holding so that Cas could take his gift.

          He hoped that Cas would make a joke of some sort to ease his slight embarrassment, but he knew him too well to think he would do anything but say sincerely, “They’re beautiful, Dean,” with something close to marvel in his voice, and Dean blushed harder.

          “I just walked by the stall, I didn’t—”

          Castiel interrupted what was sure to be a poorly thought out, self-degrading rant by kissing him lightly but firmly on the lips. He pulled away smiling.

          “Don’t do that, Dean,” he said seriously.

          “Don’t do what?”

          “Don’t make yourself or your generous actions out to be less just because you’re embarrassed of feeling emotions.” He tried to say this gently, softening it even more with a quiet smile. His eyes, which were always boring holes into Dean’s, were less intense than usual. “You are incredibly giving,” he continued, reaching up to caress his cheek with one hand. “You are incredibly kind,” he added, moving the hand on Dean’s face back to run through his hair. Dean’s eyes got heavy-lidded, and he leaned into the touch. “You are incredible,” Castiel whispered, leaning over to kiss him lingeringly on the cheek. Dean caught his wrist as he went to move away and pulled him back for a soft kiss on the lips, but this lingered too, and then deepened. Castiel raised onto his knees and tilted Dean’s head up to continue the kiss, but right before he pushed him back onto the grass, he realized that he had veered off course of his original intentions and pulled back, sitting on his ankles and laughing at how breathless and messy Dean looked as he sat up properly, his eyes wide, his hair hopelessly mussed.

          Dean struggled with speech for about a minute before Cas took pity on him.

          “I want to try something,” he announced, and Dean’s eyes widened, if possible, even more at this. Cas half-smiled and shook his head. “I can demonstrate,” he offered, and turned his eyes away from Dean momentarily, even though he continued to stare shamelessly at Castiel.

          Cas settled back into a proper sitting position again and laid the purchased flowers on his lap, then picked one up, shortened the stem with his teeth, did the same with another, and began threading them together. Dean watched him curiously, then understood and smiled indulgently. He reached over, took Castiel’s pile of flowers (ignoring the scandalized look he got in response) and placed it in the gap between their thighs. He then put his own pile on top of that. He shifted so that he was facing Cas instead, who pivoted in response and grinned as he picked up another flower, threading it into his creation while Dean started his own.

          They worked mostly in silence. Castiel kept getting distracted by the sky (“Aren’t clouds a wonderful mystery, Dean? How does that one shape itself into a perfect facsimile of a rabbit?”) or the bees (“Did you know honeybees need to fly over 48000 miles to produce one quart of honey, Dean?”) and  Dean had to pull him back into focus by pointing out a mistake he had made in his inattention or by tugging on his sleeve or by ruffling his hair and kissing his cheek.

          “Done!” Dean announced about an hour later, tying his last knot and beaming triumphantly at Castiel. Cas looked up for a second, raised an eyebrow, and returned to his own work.

          “That’s not fair, I started before you did,” he mumbled, fingers scrabbling to tie off one of his lilies and growing irritated when the stem kept stripping off instead.

          Dean smiled and reached over, properly tying off the flower and handing him back his almost-finished product as well as a buttercup to add on. “Here,” he said, putting them in Cas’s hands with one hand and tilting his chin toward him with the other. He kissed him chastely and then pulled back, eyes glittering. Castiel smiled reluctantly, adoration clear in his exasperated gaze, and then returned to his work.

          Dean laughed. “Have mine,” he said, and he dropped the ring of flowers onto Cas’s head. His fingers lingered in the messy hair, dragging through the flyaway strands and making them stand on end even more. He dropped his hand and scooted closer to watch Cas finish, bracing himself with one hand on the ground behind Castiel, their legs touching again. He laid his head peacefully on Cas’s shoulder, eyes determinedly on Cas’s own circle of flowers.

          Castiel successfully attached the buttercup but his hands started shaking when he tried to add another blossom.

          “You’re distracting me,” he said affectionately, refusing to tear his gaze away from his project.

          Dean glanced at Castiel’s profile and laughed.

          “Good,” he said, and immediately devoted himself to lessening Castiel’s concentration even further. The hand on the ground snaked around his back and attached itself to the left side of his waist, and he burrowed his head into Castiel’s neck as best as he could from his position. Castiel grunted but refused to react, redoubling his efforts and finally convincing the flower to stay.

          “Come on,” he groaned, pushing half-heartedly at Dean, who was immobile and resolutely attached to his side. “I only have one more left!”

          “You’re not convincing at all, you know,” said Dean, reaching up with his free hand to readjust Cas’s makeshift crown. When he was satisfied, he left his hand tangling in the hair around the side and back of Castiel’s head, making sure not to disturb his headwear at all.

          Castiel groaned again and hunched over slightly in an effort to devote himself solely to his work, but Dean was presenting a very convincing argument not to pay any attention to the plants in his hands.

          After about ten more minutes of struggling with temptation and a pink hydrangea, he finally knotted together the last bit of his flower crown. He laughed openly, victoriously, and Dean finally leaned back into his own space, facing Castiel again, and laughed too, just at the look of pure euphoria on Castiel’s face. He rarely looked this free, and it was beautiful.

          Castiel turned, still smiling widely, to Dean and put the circle of flowers on his still-mussed hair, then sat back to appreciate his handiwork.

          “I’ll admit,” said Dean, leaning forward so that his fingertips trailed on the grass, “Yours is better than mine. Slow and steady wins the race, I guess.”

          Cas tilted his head slightly. “I don’t understand that reference.”

          Dean chuckled and reached over to trace his jawline with his fingers. “Forget it,” he said quietly, and then leaned even closer, his left hand on Cas’s knee, and pressed their lips together.

          “You look good in a crown,” he pulled back enough to say, his breath ghosting over Castiel’s lips.

          “I think I’ve had enough brushes with power,” Cas answered, pressing their lips back together.

          Castiel allowed himself to be pushed back onto the grass, his hands tangling in the hair on the back of Dean’s head. Dean pressed light kisses all over his face, and Cas scrunched up his nose in response, so he laughed and returned to kissing his mouth instead. He soon dissolved back into more light kisses on Castiel’s nose and jaw and collarbone and eyelids and then lips again, and he was so gentle and innocent that Castiel had to smile. He curled his hands over Dean’s shoulders kissed him hard one more time, then guided him to his back beside Cas. Their shoulders, hips, and legs were touching, and when their hands brushed, Dean threaded their fingers together, eyes glued on the sky. Castiel removed his gaze from the clouds for about two seconds to look at Dean, then pressed his lips together and watched the sky, too.

          They were silent for a few minutes. Then Dean shifted his head slightly, leaned it against Cas’s.

          “I love you, Cas,” he murmured, eyes appraising Castiel’s face.

          Cas turned to look at him. “Oh, are we allowed to say that now?” he asked with genuine curiosity, and Dean’s lips turned up at the corners. “I love you too, Dean,” he answered. Blue eyes searched green for a few seconds before returning to the sky. Dean smiled to himself, kissed Castiel’s temple, and moved back over so that their heads were no longer touching but their sides were still aligned.

          Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand, wrapped tightly in his.

          “Happy anniversary,” he said quietly.

          “Happy anniversary, Dean.”


End file.
